


Complications

by Iverna



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Captain Swan - Freeform, F/M, Modern AU, also there are swords, gets a little smutty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:14:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25691878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iverna/pseuds/Iverna
Summary: Emma and Killian have a good thing going. No strings, no feelings, no complications. That is, until Emma’s brother barges into Killian’s apartment unannounced first thing in the morning... and Killian's instinct is to confront the intruder. And he doesn't have time to grab his sword AND his clothes.Modern AU featuring firefighter!David and clueless!Captain Swan. Crack with feelings.
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 20
Kudos: 181





	Complications

There’s a moment, when consciousness seeps into her brain, where Emma is content. Happy, warm, lying in a soft bed, a warm body beside her—

Her eyes, which she’s been in the process of coaxing, snap wide open. This isn’t her bed. Memories pour in, of arms around her, soft lips on hers, stubble scratching her cheeks, and the insides of her thighs, and...

She fell asleep. She goddamn fell asleep in _his_ bed, and he’s going to be insufferable about it and—

But she has no time to consider exactly how smug Killian Jones is going to be, because sheets rustle and he sits bolt upright, dragging the sheet off her.

“Hey!”

“Shh!” He turns to her, a wild look on his face. His hair is sticking up at all angles, and his blue eyes are bleary, and he has no business looking as good as he does. He also looks panicked, which Emma can empathise with, except... it’s not because of her. “There’s someone in the apartment.”

And now Emma hears it too—it must have been this that woke her, the footsteps out in the hall, a _thunk_ , another step.

Killian slides out of bed and over to the wall, where one of his swords leans against his dresser. Grabbing it, he strides over to the door of the bedroom and pulls the door open.

“Wait!” Emma half-shouts, her voice still croaky with sleep. “Killian, you’re—”

He’s already out the door.

“—naked,” she says, to the empty room.

Her heart is beating fast and her mind is trying to catch up, but she swings her legs out of the bed. Killian’s gear bag is lying in a corner of the room, and she knows he’s got at least a short sword or a messer in there. She stumbles over to it.

Something crashes out in the hallway, and there’s a yell—Killian.

“Damn it, what the—Get _off_ me, Jones!”

Emma’s heart stops as she crouches by the bag, sidesword in hand. She knows that voice.

Except it shouldn’t be _here_.

“Dave.” From the sound of it, Killian is doing his best to sound casual. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m supposed to check the fire extinguishers and—”

“Bloody hell!” Killian exclaims. “Warn a man before you come waltzing into his abode!”

“They did!”

“They did not!”

“They didn’t?” David pauses. Emma looks around, heart beating even faster now. Crap, crap, crap. Why today?

Why did she fall asleep? She should have left, like she usually does. She doesn’t stay over. Staying over complicates things, and neither she nor Killian want complications.

Of course, her brother showing up unannounced is definitely a bigger complication.

He doesn’t know about this. Nobody does, because there’s nothing _to_ know. Sometimes you just meet someone in the sword-fighting group you joined because of your brother, and you spar, and you exchange quips, and eventually you have to blow off all that pent-up steam and yield to the inevitable. It doesn’t mean anything. They never agreed on anything, never made any promises. And okay, there have been times, lately, where she’s caught herself wishing—

But she’s not going to start hoping for things she can’t have, or expecting more than he’s willing to give, or taking risks with her heart. No promises. No strings. Her wishes are her problem, and she’s determined not to dwell on it.

She’s not sure that David would understand. It’s a lot easier if he just doesn’t know. She’s a big girl. She can handle it.

“Yeah, look, I’m sorry.” David sounds sheepish now. “I thought you knew. Actually, I didn’t think you’d be here—look, can you please put some pants on at least?”

“This is my apartment,” Killian reminds him. He sounds smug now, and Emma knows he’s playing it up, trying to get David to leave. “I don’t tell you what to wear in your house.”

“I don’t care what you wear as long as it’s _something_!” David sounds exasperated. “Can we just—wait.”

His voice changes in a way that makes Emma think, _uh oh_.

“What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“Don’t play dumb, Jones. The jacket.”

Up until a moment ago, Emma’s heart was hammering in her ears. Now, it seems to have disappeared completely. Her jacket. The one she struggled to get out of last night, the one Killian peeled off her impatiently and dropped to the floor—somewhere, who cared, as long as he didn’t stop touching her—

“That’s Emma’s jacket.”

“Oh. Aye. She forgot it at training the other day and I—actually, perhaps you’d be so good as to return it to her, you’ll likely see her before I do.”

It’s a good lie, smooth and delivered with just the right amount of casual.

“Uh-huh,” David says, in that tone that says he knows Killian a little too well. “Why’s it lying on the floor?”

“It must’ve fallen—”

“Jones,” David says, his voice lowering. Emma gets up noiselessly, tiptoes closer to the door, mind racing. “That’s Emma’s gear lying over by the door. You wanna try that again?”

There’s a pause. When Killian speaks again, his voice is barely audible. “Listen, mate, perhaps this isn’t the best time to, ah, discuss this.”

“Discuss what?” David demands, more loudly again. “You messing around with _my sister_?”

“I am not _messing around_ —”

“Don’t play semantics with me, Killian—”

Emma is fighting an intense battle with herself. The jig is up. David knows. And she’s the one who stayed over, she’s the one who broke their unspoken agreement, so really, she’s the one who should be facing the music.

She’s also the one who’s dressed. In Killian’s shirt, as it happens, but still.

She looks around, locates Killian’s jeans, and goes out into the hall.

“I’m _not_ ,” Killian is saying. He and David are facing each other, David in his firefighter gear, Killian still in his birthday suit. They turn, almost in unison, as Emma steps out to join them, and Killian falls silent.

Her eyes linger on him; she can’t help it. He makes quite the picture, dark hair a riot and falling into his face, sword in his hand, naked as the day he was born. He’s a gorgeous guy, there’s no denying that. Those blue eyes and dramatic dark lashes, the sharp jawline, the lips that deliver challenge and flirtation and pleasure beyond anything she’s known. He’s got a fencer’s build, lean but strong, muscles flexing under pale skin. And then there’s his neck, and his shoulders, and his chest with the dusting of dark hair that she runs her fingers through sometimes, leading down along his torso to the v of his hips and—

Yeah, he’s magnificent in every way. The bastard.

He’s staring at her, and she realises she probably makes quite the picture as well, half-dressed and with her hair a mess. She has to fight back an urge to duck back into the bedroom and find a hair brush. He’s seen her sweaty and gross after training, she reminds herself.

But this is different. It shouldn’t be, but it is.

“Emma,” David says, and she tears her eyes away from Killian to look at her brother. He’s giving her a look, eyebrows raised, expression somewhere between stern and amused. “Let me guess, you just came over to get your jacket, and somehow spilled something on all your clothes, and Killian very kindly lent you his shirt.”

Emma narrows her eyes at him. If she was going to make excuses, she’d come up with something better than _that_. She’s pretty sure, anyway. “Not exactly.”

David nods. “Right. Because I was going to ask how _that_ ,” he taps two fingers against the side of his neck, “fits in.”

Emma puts a hand to her own neck without thinking. She remembers that, too—Killian’s mouth on her skin, nipping and suckling and pulling pleasure through her skin, and she knew it was a bad idea, she knew he’d leave a mark, but she didn’t care because it felt so damn good—

Trying to ignore her burning cheeks, she tries to pull her hair over the bruise, gives up when her fingers get stuck in the blond mane, and turns to Killian and tosses him the jeans. “Here.”

He glances at her as he catches them. She’s not sure how to interpret the look on his face. He looks a little like someone waiting for the sentence to be handed down. “Cheers, love.”

David folds his arms and looks from one to the other. “So. You’re not messing around, huh?”

Killian drops his sword and tugs his jeans up to his narrow hips, and Emma tries not to watch as he does up the button one-handed, muscles moving under the tanned skin of his forearm. He shoots David a look that seems almost pleading. “That’s not the term I would use, no.”

“What term would you use?”

“I—it’s—” Killian glances at Emma again, looking torn. It’s not often that the man is lost for words, but he’s struggling now, throat working as he swallows. She can feel something hovering between them—the words he’s looking for, maybe, or the words she’s trying not to say. It happens sometimes, these moments stretching between them, and it’s like she’s caught in a riptide and can’t get away. It makes her want to run, or fly, or just fling herself into his arms. It’s dangerous.

“Complicated,” he says.

It’s not what she expected him to say. It sounds like _more than that_ , it sounds like _it means something_ , but that has to be wishful thinking. He just doesn’t want to tell David he’s screwing his sister.

“Oh, come on,” Emma says, and maybe her tone is a little harsher than expected, but there’s hurt lodged in her chest and she doesn’t know where it’s coming from and she doesn’t like it. “At least be honest. It’s none of his business what we do.”

Killian’s eyes flash. “I am being honest.”

“ _Complicated_?” she echoes. “It’s not complicated.”

“It is for me!” For a moment, she thinks he’s about to say more, but he catches himself, shakes his head, lets out a weary-sounding chuckle. “I’m not going to ask for more than you’re willing to give, Swan, but don’t ask me for honesty when we both know you don’t want it.”

She gapes at him. More than _she’s_ willing to give? She’s not the one who set the terms.

At least, she’s pretty sure she didn’t. She can’t really remember. It’s not like they stopped to talk, that first time. Or any time after that.

“You’re the one who didn’t want to tell anyone!”

“I never said—that was a suggestion, for _your_ sake.” He looks exasperated. “I thought it would be easier.”

David sighs loudly, pinching the bridge of his nose before bracing both hands on his hips.

Killian looks back at him, guilt all over his face. “I apologise for the subterfuge, mate.”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Emma adds, raising her chin.

“Can’t blame a man for getting a bit protective, Swan,” Killian says with a wry attempt at a smile. “He doesn’t want you getting hurt.”

“I’m not going to get hurt,” she all but snaps, despite the ache in her chest that says otherwise.

“I know,” he says softly, and it sounds like a promise. She looks at him, trying to decipher that look in his eyes, wanting to demand what that means, why he says things like that, why—

“You two,” David says, “are idiots.”

They stare at him.

He raises his hands. “Hey, it really is none of my business. I’m gonna go, and call my boss to make sure the other residents actually know we’re coming in for inspection, and don’t worry,” he smirks at Killian, “next time, I’ll knock.”

Killian looks surprised, then suspicious. “If you’re angry at me, I’d rather have it out.”

“Oh, no,” Emma says. “You two are not gonna have a duel for my honour or something.”

David scoffs. “I think you can defend your own honour.”

There’s a pause, and he looks from one to the other. “Oh, come on,” he says, rolling his eyes. “You think I haven’t seen how you look at each other? Everyone knows. I’m pretty sure August and Neal have a bet going.”

“What?” Emma feels her eyes widen. She’s not that obvious. She can’t be that obvious.

David shakes his head. “Look, you guys have stuff to talk about. Not that you probably will. Good luck.”

He’s gone before Emma can get the last word in. There’s a moment’s silence after the door clicks shut.

Then Killian clears his throat. “Right, then.” He reaches up to scratch behind his ear, shooting her a sheepish look. “Apologies, love, that wasn’t how I wanted this morning to go.”

She flees for the safety of humour. “Really? You didn’t plan for my brother to barge in and run at him with a sword?”

He chuckles, and bends down to retrieve said sword from where he dropped it. “Not entirely, no.”

They stand there for a moment, and it’s not awkward, exactly, but Emma has no idea what to say.

“Can I say, for the record,” Killian says, gesturing at her, “that I’m a big fan of this look.”

She looks down at herself. She’s still got his sidesword gripped in one hand, his shirt is far too big for her, and she’s barefoot, her hair a mess. “Very funny.”

“I’m being quite serious. You look ravishing.”

She doesn’t know what to say to that, either. She never knows what to say when he compliments her. It always feels like too much, and it makes her hope... and then there’s the thing he just said, and she’s starting to think that maybe she got a few things wrong along the way.

“What did you mean?” she asks. “About me not getting hurt?”

He swallows. “Swan...”

“I’m asking,” she says, bracing herself. “For honesty.”

“All right.” He takes a deep breath. “I know you won’t get hurt because I’m not going to hurt you. This,” he waves his arm between them, the wrist bare without his prosthesis, “is whatever you want it to be. Whatever you need.”

“Yeah?” She takes a hesitant step towards him. “What if—what if I want...” She can’t say it, doesn’t know the words, or rather, she can’t think of them when he’s looking at her like that.

“Whatever you want,” he repeats, and then his arms are around her and she’s kissing him and she doesn’t want to stop. Desire crashes through her, a wave she couldn’t stop if she wanted, and she drops the sword in order to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him closer. He sways into her, bodies pressing together, and she can feel the heat of him through the thin fabric of his shirt.

She can feel his arousal, too, his denim-covered bulge pressing into the skin below her navel. She knows how he’ll feel inside her, and for all that she had him only a few hours ago, she wants him again so badly she aches with it.

She can’t stop kissing him, either, but his mouth drifts away from hers, trailing along her jaw, to her ear, and on.

“Come back to bed, love,” he murmurs, nuzzling into her neck. “Let me— _god_ , Emma—let me show you—love you—”

He sounds half-drunk, and she knows how he feels. Her thoughts are hazy with want, all the desire she’s never quite allowed herself to feel boiling up now, and she can’t hold it back anymore.

“Please,” she says, not even sure what she’s asking for, except, just—“Killian.”

He gives a helpless-sounding groan, and hoists her up off her feet. She wraps her legs around him, and he carries her back into the bedroom, and to the bed, and into bliss.

That week, they show up to training together, Emma’s hand in Killian’s and a smile lingering on his face, mirroring the one that's refusing to fade from hers.

David grins, and turns to Neal and August, holding out his hand.


End file.
